


dew.

by finales



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fugitives, Guns, Non-Graphic Violence, Soulmates, painter tendou
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26662153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finales/pseuds/finales
Summary: In a world where people, when close enough, hear the music their soulmate listens to, Tendou is dragged into a mess of fugitives and rebellions. And it's all because of a mere soulmate bond.
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Reader
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by klimt’s paintings of lake attersee (notably: schloss kammer am attersee ii, unterach am attersee, and on lake attersee)

On the walls are high school memories in the form of polaroids, ones etched into his skull in blurs of hue and preserved with thick coats of varnish, as to never forget. The bed is a whirlwind of crisp sheets and stacked binders organised into categories: photographs for references, magazine cut-outs, and little post-it note reflections on his previous artworks. Tendou would joke note-taking was the only thing he learnt from art school. That was before he dropped out, at least. 

His grandfather’s record player comes to a halt, not without the appalling scratchy noise that sounds much like his dry, overused brush scraping the canvas. Rolling his shoulders until they crack with a satisfying _pop_ , he places the brush on a spare cloth, so the brushes wouldn’t turn any crustier (and have loose bristles fall off like the dying autumn leaves across the street).

_I’ve got to replace them soon._ He has been saving for it, eyeing the displays of the art store down the block during his morning jogs.

He wrings his wrists and slides a dollop of blue across the canvas in a long streak of colour. Satisfied with the final touches, he scrunches his nose and stretches his limbs, almost knocking the water jar labelled “not for drinking!” in permanent marker.

In his daze, Tendou hears a faint, mellow tune, the same one he has been humming, but one he has never heard before. _Here we go again_ , he thinks. _This must be the second time this week?_

_It can’t be._ You’re close, closer than you have ever been. The sound takes him far, far away, circling along a thousand miles of white linen and untold stories, past the ever-so-changing seasons and faded Stravinsky recordings. It takes him to a lake, the image now vivid in his mind. It compels him to abandon his mess of a makeshift studio (bedroom) and leave to the lake, right there and then. 

He glances at his roommate on the way to the door. “Still here? You're in charge of dinner, and you better not burn it.”

Semi chooses to ignore the second comment and sits up from the couch. After all, Tendou’s misfortunes are much more interesting to discuss. “Hanging out at that lake? Good luck finding your made up soulmate,” he raises his eyebrows and gives Tendou a roguish upturn of the lips.

After an entire year of disappointment, of failed attempts at finding his soulmate before the notes grow faint, he was determined to make this work. To cling to every last hope, until everything slips out of his grip, slips out of control. Like it always does.

“Once you’re eighteen, you’ll start hearing music in your head when your soulmate’s close enough. You’ll find each other eventually” is what the adults would say whenever he asked. _But I’m only hearing it at twenty-two_ , he thinks as soon as he hurries down the stairs, skipping three steps at a time.

Tendou yanks a beanie over his head, places his leather-bound sketchbook in his heavy backpack, and swings a leg over his bike.

By the time he arrives at the clearing before the lake, the sun is no longer visible. Neither are you.

“Hello? Anyone here?” he asks and is met with nothing but sounds of creatures receding into their homes. 

He lowers himself onto the grass, crossing his legs, and gazes at the sun’s afterglow reflecting on the calm blue lake. Tossing a smooth stone, Tendou watches the surface ripple and engulf the stone, in the manner of the notes that brought him here in the first place. Still, he fails to notice something, or rather, _someone_ watching him from deep within the forest.

Tendou almost doesn’t register the low, gentle notes in his head in a sound that is eerily similar to Semi’s guitar. This time, a bleary image paints itself into his mind: a cramped, barely-lit space with objects littered around on shelves and hung on walls. With two still figures, close enough that the colours of their clothes melt together. He squints to see it more clearly, forgetting that it is in his mind, and the image fades away. _Twice in one day? My luck will run out soon._

“It’s an instinct,” he was told. “You’ll know where to go.” He understands. It’s the longing that guides him. He longs to meet the person he is meant to be with. Someone who would stay by his side, till death do us part.

He rushes to the tree that towers above his fallen bike and pedals once again, muttering. “This would be so much easier if I had a car.”

As the evergreens blur past him, he hums the tune. The scent of pine clouds his mind, and he shivers at the gusts of wind, ruffling the strands that peek out of his beanie. Tendou's hands tighten around the handles of his bike, his bag precariously hanging over the back wheel from when he slung it over his shoulder in a frenzy. 

Seconds blend into minutes, aided with water droplets from the evening dew, and he finds himself past the long, never-ending stretches of misty land, at the entrance of a small, peaceful town. He drags a hand down his face and sighs, eliciting stares from the townspeople. If he wasn’t in a hurry, he would have spent hours watching in silence as light appears through the windows and hangs above the roads, one by one, until the lights disappear when the town goes to sleep, unlike his own city that never sleeps. 

Something about this little town draws him in, despite the fact that he never knew it. Panting, he guides his bicycle along the road and listens to the music still playing in his head, gaze flitting from building to building, searching. An older lady with a walking stick eyes him in suspicion, but Tendou offers her the most gentle, trusty smile he could muster. She only narrows her eyes at him. 

As her figure retreats into one of the identical two-storey, grey-roofed buildings and leaves the door ajar, he looks up at the darkening sky, to the stars. The notes are clearer now. It wakes something within him and drives him to scramble across the road before a child with a wheelbarrow.

Mindless, Tendou shoves the door open—one with a rusty metal “Shirabu Instruments” plaque— it slams against _something_ with a sharp, ear-splitting screak, permeating the tune in his head. He has half a mind to lower his head before it hits the doorframe, and hears the same song through two pairs of ears; yours and his, so loud it bleeds into his very being. He feels it in his bones causing him to clutch his head from the sheer force of the headache. The music comes to an abrupt stop. The blaring lights above are a stark contrast to the dim sunset light from earlier, and he blinks to adjust his eyes and take the scene in. 

The room is packed with every imaginable instrument: something that looks much like a colourless xylophone with , a giant violin his dormmate insists is called a cello, and various others that fill every space in this store—except for the ceiling, and a little yellow door that can only be the storage room. 

A figure in blue lumbers towards him, and he recognises her face. And the walking cane being pointed at him. 

She frowns at him, expecting an explanation. Tendou rolls the twisted collar of his turtleneck and points at the yellow door, “I’d like to talk to the person back there.” 

“Are you a friend of Kenjirou’s? Or is it…” 

He straightens up at the _possible_ mention of a second person. _That must be it._ “No, but I… I just want to talk,” he says, unsure of what it is that he wants to talk about, much less _how_ he will, and raises his paint-smothered hands in an attempt to gain the woman’s trust. “I’m not here to harm anyone!” 

His eyes fixate on the chipped, yellow paint at the corners of the door. 

“Go ahead,” she says, considering the smudges of vibrant greens and blues on his hands. If she’s going to let a stranger— a young man who clearly is from the city— into the storeroom of her precious store, he may as well be someone unarmed. A painter would have nothing to do with her instruments, unlike the fugitives who go from town to town searching for anything of interest to them (usually of value) only for the townspeople to spend years making up for the damage. “Just don’t mess with any instruments.”

He tugs at the handle, tilting his head to regard the flits of expression painted on her face. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by [awaiting answer](https://keij.tumblr.com/post/626370285524959233/awaiting-answer)  
> by keij and [redamancy](https://aigremoine.tumblr.com/post/628679671379296256/title-redamancy-pairing-iwaizumi-hajime-x-reader) by aigremoine, both on tumblr!

He stands rooted to the ground with the door wide open and his bag rocking off his shoulder like the boat docked at the edge of the lake. Something locks into place, something _sinks in_ as you blink at each other, leaving Shirabu looking between you. You don’t know what it is, but you feel different. 

It’s rather nice.

Shirabu excuses himself from his seat at the piano stool with a clearing of his throat, mumbling all the way up the rickety stairs tucked away in the corner of the room. Neither of you notice him leave.

Tendou gives you a small smile and trudges over to the piano seat, the leather in perfect condition, while adjusting the straps of his bag. 

“So… nice to meet you, soulmate?”

You can’t help but laugh. “You sure are smooth,” you say, but your attention shifts to what’s on the side of your belt. Pressing your waist to the wall, you turn towards him and cross your legs in front of your stool, trying to keep your strained smile from disappearing. “Heard that piece Shirabu was playing, and that’s how you got here?”

“It was nice until it started blasting in my ears,” he says with a chuckle. “I didn’t think you like classical music. Y’know, everyone’s into rock these days,” he gestures with his hands and motions as though he is playing the (air) guitar. “Just like my roommate. All he listens to is Radiohead and Nirvana.” 

“That was a song we were rehearsing for the theatre!” you say, attempting to level your voice. “That little one at the end of the road, if you’ve seen it. It’s where I work.”

“Really? Then what’s that on your waist?” he points to the walkie talkie . “We only see that in movies. Or with the _very_ kind authorities. Don’t say...” he trails off, eyes widening.

Your mind goes blank, but something inside you screams in panic.

You launch yourself at Tendou, tightening your grip around his shoulders and tackling him to the cold, wooden floor, his body going rigid. He clearly is uncomfortable with how he stiffens, but comfort isn’t what you’re aiming for (both literally and figuratively).

A cold, firm object presses into his temple with all the strength you’ve gained over years of training, and he breathes. At first, you were expecting him to scream, to resist, yet he lets out a laugh that makes the liquid of your blood turn into ice.

“Trying to kill me already? You sure are a bold one, sunshine.”

He m away and gape at him. He knits his brows in return.

“We’re soulmates. If I die, you die, no?” It’s strange how he speaks with such nonchalance, not a waver in his voice. You would have been fooled if you didn’t feel his heart rate pick up ever so slightly as you attempted to “threaten” him.

“You don’t even know my name yet. Besides,” he taps the tip of the gun with a grin. “The safety’s on anyways.”

Glaring at him, you flick the safety lever with a _click_ , and you watch as his blood-red eyes crinkle.

You exchange names, last lullabies to be heard for an eternity. Tendou sighs in relief at the realisation that he is no longer searching, that he will no longer be hearing fragments and droplets of your music; that he will be hearing your voice, _music_ , for as long as he lives.

♪♪♪

“So,” you begin, ignoring how something in your chest jolts at your own thoughts. “You’re not going anywhere, now that you found out about our plan. You’ll stay here until we figure out what to do with you.”

The silence is unbearable. He does not speak, he merely stares. Whether he stares at you or through you, you do not know, but you suppose he is perplexed; for he clearly hafd never expected his soulmate to be a fugitive, a rebel, of all things. Guilt courses through your veins, pounds in your ears, and you stare back, wide-eyed, expecting him to retort. Yet he places a hand on your shoulder and smiles, leaving you wondering what you did to deserve such trust from your soulmate, albeit a stranger.

“As long as you won’t lock me up in a dungeon or use me as bait, I’m okay.” With an eerie quirk of his mouth that almost makes you snort, he whispers, “your secret’s safe with me.”

_This isn't too bad_ , you think. _I can learn to trust him._

_I have no clue what I just dragged myself into, but I’m willing to do this_ , he thinks. _Whatever this is._

“Do you have a plan?”

“We’re infiltrating the headquarters tomorrow.”

Before he’s able to process the fact that it’s happening _so soon and you haven’t even gotten to know him yet_ , the door opens, and Shirabu’s grandmother lifts her cane and thumps it on the floor, muttering something that sounds suspiciously close to “city boys”.

“You’ve got to be more careful. You left your bike out in the open, and it’s nighttime. And you’ll need to stay in here. You’ve never used a gun, have you?” she says, her cane tapping against the side of a harpsichord, without waiting for an answer. His bewildered expression is more than enough. “It’s only for self-defence, don’t worry. We’re not like _them_.”

“But I haven’t told Semi, he’s gonna be worried sick. Does this place even have a telephone booth? A payphone?”

“You’re thinking of calling a friend right now?”

♪♪♪

It’s almost dawn, and you’re at the lake. The silence echoes from tree to tree, the only sounds being Tendou’s barely-audible humming, the vibrations sending chills down your body through the area where your shoulders brush against his.

You wrap your dark coat tighter against your body, watching puffs of air dissipate in the wind. _Early_ , you think. _Too early, and the others must be making their way here._

With the hoarse, scratchy etching of words and years, years, and years of searching onto damp soil, your soulmate looks solemn.

(It reminds him of a time, when he waited, waited, and waited some more.

Perhaps, the wait will be worth it.)

He lifts his head so quickly it makes you wonder if his neck is okay, but when you hear the crunching of leaves and muffled laughs, it takes all of your willpower not to bury your head in the mud. It is supposed to be a “secret” mission, but it seems as though some of your fellow “fugitives” still haven’t grasped the concept of being sly. It’s a wonder how they haven’t been caught yet. (The forest has ears, as they like to say.

You want to laugh, but you’d rather not. )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [find me on tumblr!](https://miyafeuille.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> [find me on tumblr!](https://miyafeuille.tumblr.com)


End file.
